Despite the protestations of other reviewers saying that The Strangeness of Beauty was too aesthetically minded, I was disappointed to find that the novel wasn’t aesthetically minded enough for my own tastes. However, I did still enjoy Minatoya’s novel and its peculiar framing as what she refers to as an “I Story” or a shishosetsu as I’ve seen it referred to elsewhere. Rather than Etsuko being a driving force of the plot, the main character (the “I” in question) takes a more passive role in the story.
The shishosetsu framing traditionally aims to give a factual account of events and reflections on events which is ironic here because the subject of this work isn’t Minatoya herself but rather the fictitious character Etsuko. Etsuko, like the book’s author, wrestles with her identity as both American and Japanese. I don’t think she really draws any novel conclusions and kind of falls into cliche when deciding that she doesn’t really neatly fit in either world. According to composer Toru Takemitsu, shishosetsu is rooted in a particularly confucian idea of art as a dignified event rather than a self expressive one, yet it’s in that display that the writer creates an allegory of themselves. Perhaps this is an appropriate context to tell a tale that, like any, tells a gendered story. While I’m not an expert of shishosetsu, I think there is something about quiet dignity, passivity, and self reflection that would fit the sort of story being told. Minatoya herself describes the tradition of novel writing being a particularly feminine pursuit amongst Japanese noblewomen historically. In a traditional western novel, the action would probably focus mostly on Hanae and I could easily see this as a sort of Bildungsroman, but the focus on the out of the spotlight role of motherhood makes this a much more interesting read.
When it comes to the telling of history on the macrolevel, Minatoya doesn’t bog the reader down with too much detail and it’s about the level of content you’d find on an introductory course on the dissolution of the samurai class and the Meiji Restoration. However, Minatoya does pique my interest with her care for the lives of women and small traditions in life that are often ignored when giving a political or economic history. Particularly her observation on the viewed passivity and lack of adaptability of women leading them to be sent back to Japan for their schooling and social development was interesting.
In terms of character creation and development, it felt like some of the characters were forced on certain paths to make it easier for the author to write from their perspectives. While there certainly was a move towards westernization and modernisation at this time, it does feel strange that just about every person in this traditionally minded samurai class family has read the standard repertoire of western great works and thought. Furthermore, in her generalizations of the differences between Japanese and American culture, Minatoya seems to focus on the cultural peculiarities of the samurai class and incorporate some of their mythos into her history telling. Additionally, some of the more material differences– like eating with chopsticks– don’t feel as poignant to modern readers, especially given the rise in influence of Japanese culture on America through things like anime, music, and video games within the past few decades. In other words, the “otherness” that she tries to hone in on isn’t felt as acutely as it perhaps would’ve been thirty or forty years ago.
I also think that Minatoya can’t help but make most of the characters that she focuses on fundamentally good or exceptional. Hanae is of course the top of her class. Chie Fuji, a usually conservative samurai class woman, is outspokenly anti-Imperial. The soldier returned home from the decidedly evil Japanese Imperial Army was a conscientious objector. No one falls for the imperial propaganda, they just want to fit in! On and on it goes, til a point where we have to wonder where all the imperial supporters and war criminals in 1930s and 1940s Japan came from! But, in the end, the fates of history aren’t really the focus. The novel shines in a few moments, notably when recognizing the beauty in people continuing to fight an unwinnable fight. No matter how many pamphlets Etsuko publishes, Japan will still invade Manchuria and later attack the United States. The stitching of the women will not save a Japanese soldier from gunfire. Chie’s father will fight for the Imperial forces, ensuring his own demise as a samurai. All of these people have complex worlds, replete with cultural practices, traditions, and beloved family, but all of that can be wiped out by Imperial Decree or the will of the Japanese military.
Overall, there were moments that shined in this book even if it’s not a flawless masterpiece. If you’re looking for a tome on Japanese aesthetic theory then I’d steer you elsewhere, but if you want a generally liberal-minded story of three women who have to come to terms with massive cultural shifts in 20th century Japan then this might be the read for you.